Daniel de Culla

The January Selected Poet is Daniel de Culla

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From beginning to end
is explained absolutely everything worth knowing
about absolutely nothing.
Why not?
We felt that the Beginning is a true leaf
Of the immortal literature
as a side of bacon changing the pig
discovering the best way to keep its legend alive
encouraging mythology
and the controversy about it.
Sun will have its tide spreading over our maps
Moon remembering us when we are gone
And West will singe everything waiting
For birth, death
Inside this den of us.
Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter
Coming with feelings of love, radiance
quiet and delight
As ever.


Crossing the street
I’m just celebrating
The feline sense of “Like.”
How do you like me?
I like bananas more than slices of watermelon.
And I really feel like…
And yet I induced it like…
That is like.
What is she like?
The like as me.
With my own words to receive
To touch, to perceive:
Baby is likely to live; Old is likely to die.
You have eyes like stars
And the face like an ass.
I’m going to divorce you
For that;
Like father, like son.


With good or bad music comes Night
When the Sun is below the horizon.
Black cloak as clerical cassock
Is covering the city

On their roofs of houses and blocks
Referring to Mozart’s music
To Straus waltzes
To rock or rap.

The Moon flies over the clouds
With its head peeled and a scarf around its neck.
Little by little, Night is singing its music
That does not shut up

In harmony or melody of sounds
Or both combined
And, when it’s quiet, butterflies leave the clouds
And come towards the light to burn their wings

Introducing more or less deeply
In the lovers’ bedroom
With vain talk, stories, gossip
Where one organ enters the parts of another

Adhering to its surface
Like the cat at the snout—very thin
The long tail
And the gray hairs of the mouse.

Mischief, traps, perfidies
Coronate musical notes
From a nocturnal dream that soon begins.
Stigmas, infamous notes, like Bingo’s cards
Are coming out of a sack, from a stanza
Or of any other similar deposit.

Tokens, balls or any other similar objects
With the names of the people
That they have to leave with luck.

Later, to the point, Dream
With its adoring, gentle serenade
Between handfuls of cotton
Jumps without rhyme or reason
In corners and between sheets

When networks are building
For unsuspecting flies to produce sounds
On string instruments, wind instruments
Percussion, keys, and so on
That makes them boast of themselves
Making march to the melodious Night
At its dawn
With music elsewhere.

Daniel de Culla is a writer, poet, and photographer. He’s a member of the Spanish Writers Association, Earthly Writers International Caucus, Poets of the World, (IA) International Authors, Surrealism Art, and others. He is the Director of Gallo Tricolor Review and Robespierre Review. He participated in many Festivals of Poetry, and Theater in Madrid, Burgos, Berlin, Minden, Hannover and Genève. He has been exhibited in many galleries from Madrid, Burgos, London, and Amsterdam. He is moving between North Hollywood, Madrid and Burgos.